Darius looked down at the filthy thing. “Thank you, but I am fine.”
The man merely shrugged and began to walk, tossing the strip away. Darius followed, sucking at the smarting skin on his palm.
They had barely taken twenty paces when he saw it, or rather them. Various knickknacks lay about or floated in midair. An ornate gold sandglass suspended in nothing, a rocking chair swaying without a breeze, a cup spinning without string, a houseplant tipped over, all resting apart from one another. Alone. Whether they were portals to another realm within Aadilor or doors to a grandmother’s private room, he could not tell, only that they all appeared unremarkable. And if others were traveling within Yamanu, he could not hear or see them. It was a soundless, foggy place.
Really, it was all so . . . depressing. A tightness clenched within Darius’s throat. He seemed forever haunted by the depressing.
Staying tight on the man’s heels, Darius followed his guide through the thick air until the scattering of objects was joined by an occasional dirt road and then a dark, grassy hill before trudging up a set of zigzagging stairs leading to a bridge that stretched endlessly, disappearing into misty oblivion.
None of it made any sense, and tramping across the bridge, Darius had the feeling that if he asked for clarity, he would only be left with a riddle for an answer. He had not grown up around much magic or the many secrets he knew Aadilor held, but what little he had been exposed to, he knew existed without reason or logic. There were whole cities and territories that remained swimming in the lost gods’ gifts, while others, rumored to have once thrived in their blessings, now lay dry, his dear Lachlan among them. Magic was said to be passed down through blood, but it was not unheard of for a gifted soul to be born from ungifted parents and vice versa. The rules of Aadilor seemed to have disappeared along with the gods. Darius only knew that nothing pleased a clever thing more than outsmarting itself. And magic, well, it was the cleverest thing in existence.
“Should we stop for a bit of food?” asked Darius, pulling out some wrapped bread from the small satchel he carried, early pangs of hunger hitting him. He hadn’t eaten much at the ball, and really, how long had they been traveling?
“We are nearly there,” said his guide.
Nearly where? Darius wanted to ask, given that it was all beginning to look the same. How this man, senseer or not, knew where to walk was beyond him. After crossing the bridge—which did in fact have an end—they had gone over a small stream before ascending and descending more stairs and even walking through stairs, which Darius hadn’t realized was ever an option.
He was learning a lot on this trip.
“We’re here.” His guide stopped at an unremarkable small wooden box lying in the middle of a field.
Darius blinked, incredulous. “Are you sure? It might be that pebble over there.”
“Nah.” The man waved his hand. “That leads to no place ya want to go. Unless ya enjoy screaming.”
Though he couldn’t see it, he imagined the man smiled.
Darius took a step away from the rock.
Bending down, his guide inserted a key into the top of the box, and with a twist it flipped open, shining a light that expanded upward and squared off into the shimmering outline of a portal door. Darius stepped forward and peered through. His eyes widened. He was staring into an immense cave, and within that cave was a city. Giant stalactites stretched down to the cavern’s floor to connect to stalagmites that stretched up. Small white lights of dwellings filled each and every one, like sparkling snow, while separate stone buildings were carved into the surrounding rock walls. Below, an expanse of a dark city twisted around the rising rocks, multicolored smoke puffing from chimneys. Blue and green glowworms hung high throughout the cavern, lending a starry effect to the ceiling of this massive, cloaked world.
“Welcome to the Thief Kingdom.” The guide extended a hand for Darius to step through the portal and onto a ledge that overlooked the city.
When he did, Darius stopped on the rocky lip, taking a moment to appreciate the immense view below, to breathe in the air that was rather fresh for a world that appeared to be underground. Darius had never seen anything like it. Hadn’t imagined such a thing to exist, and certainly not to be as beautiful as this. For a place said to be filled with depravity and sin, it was extremely dreamy. Here lay a city still swimming in magic that collected all varieties Aadilor had to offer—most assuredly the corrupt kind.
“Ya paid for one last request.” The bent man appeared at Darius’s side.
“Yes,” said Darius, his eyes still on the shadowed world below, on the sharply carved onyx palace rising in the center. “Take me to the Thief King.”
CHAPTER SIX
Larkyra squirmed impatiently in the center of her room as Charlotte undressed her down to her plain white shift.
Her mind danced with the proceedings of the night, recalling all the guests she’d waltzed with and new acquaintances she had made. But most of all, her thoughts kept returning to Lord Mekenna and his stepfather, the duke.
It had sent both relief and a twinge of annoyance through Larkyra when she saw no recognition in Lord Mekenna’s gaze as he looked upon her. Relief because this meant she had gotten away with being a street urchin and would not have to explain why she’d been in such a state in the lowers. And annoyance for finding herself so forgettable, appearances aside, by anyone she had met that very same day.
“You were radiant tonight,” said her lady’s maid as she wrapped the blue gown from her Eumar Journé in a soft silk box. Kaipo gave a sleepy squawk from where he rested on his stand beside Larkyra’s bed, his silver wings shimmering under the candlelight.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Larkyra, going to her dressing table. She pulled every last pin from her hair and sighed as her scalp was released, her tresses falling in crimped waves to her waist.
“Did any dance partners catch your interest tonight?” asked Charlotte as she began to brush Larkyra’s hair.
“Why do you ask?” Larkyra frowned at the woman behind her in the mirror.
“You had many, is all. Now that you’re of the marrying age, you’re sure to have callers.”
The image of a tall, red-haired lord filled Larkyra’s mind once more. Lord Mekenna’s firm grip as he spun her about the room, the clove scent that clung to him, and the wide, rare smile that lit up his face.
But what does it matter? thought Larkyra. She wasn’t interested in a suitor. She carried too many secrets to ever think seriously of settling down. Too many duties to her family to ever be parted from them for long, not to mention her gifts. Larkyra’s past was not exactly a pretty account of what she was capable of doing to those she loved. It was best not to complicate things by potentially adding another she might hurt if her magic ever grew uncontrolled.
“I have no time for such things.” Larkyra waved a hand as if she could swat away the notion.
“You’ll find yourself with enough time when the right one comes along,” declared Charlotte. “And then you’ll find the grains flow much too quick. What about that gentleman that requested two of your dances? I didn’t get to see him, but there was much chatter about him downstairs.”
“Hayzar Bruin?” Larkyra all but choked out.